When Life Gives You Tony and Holmes, Make Trouble
by MarvelDC superhero fan
Summary: Tatiana dropped into Sherlock Holmes' reality to get away from the Marvel Universe and her friend Tony Stark. What she didn't expect was to find Tony drop in as well, or the difficulties she'd face when he didn't recognize her.
1. Meeting an Old Friend

**Author's Note:** This is my first fanfic ever. I love Iron Man and Sherlock Holmes so much, and finally I can write this out. I do not own anything except for my OC, and everyone enjoy. Please review and give your thoughts.

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I calculated the odds of surprisingly meeting the one man I never expected, Sherlock Holmes. I was also able to predict his reaction to me, that I'd be "included," at least by Watson. It was wonderful to have him on my side when I gave the winning clue for a mystery plaguing Holmes.

Of course, the fact I was a woman pretending to be a male in 19th century England, and convincing as a male at that, didn't help temper Holmes' dislike.

I, Tatiana, felt his dislike and want for me to fail many times over. What I never prepared for was to escape from my reality of the Marvel Universe away from Tony Stark to see him again, not that he would realize.

"We have a guest. Perhaps you would care to meet him, out of that dreadful male clothing you choose to wear?" Sherlock asked.

"I will meet him, but not on your conditions," I muttered in the British accent he hated. He rarely spoke to me, but I had an inkling something was up, and I wanted to get to the bottom of it.

"And get rid of that fake British accent! He's American, you have no one to perform for!" he added coldly, watching my reaction of disdain at his comments.

Ignoring him completely because my accent wasn't "fake" at all (I am credited as a decent actress after all), I walked into the room and saw Sherlock's bemused expression at my shocked face to the person at the window.

"Tony!" I choked out. This could not be happening. How the hell did he follow me, and how did he find me?

"My, my, I don't know you yet, but you really can work that outfit... How about you move a little closer so I can see all of your... assets better," he noted unabashedly and winked.

Suddenly composing myself because Holmes was watching me so closely, I casually asked, "Haven't we met before?"

Then, staring at him, the truth came crashing down on me. Where I had just left, the 21st century where I belonged, I cared about Tony. We were close, good friends. The Tony in this room was not the one I knew yet.

He, in his "past," was meeting me, for the first time. This was before he became acquainted with me as Iron Man to protect me, before our friendship began. I saw it in the way he looked at me, and the lack of recognition in his eyes. He was on the same timeline as my Tony, but he fell into this Sherlockian reality like I did. In my head, all the characteristics and little pieces of the Tony I knew were on a checklist, and barely anything I sensed displayed the Tony I cared for.

"I'm beginning to like 19th century England a lot..." Tony claimed as he strutted closer to me. Sherlock simply stared at the scene before him and had that damned amused look on his smug face.

Sherlock wanted me to learn about Tony by "falling" for his charms, and in the process get knocked down from the pedestal people had of me as a comparison to Holmes.

Tony didn't know who I was, and therefore wanted to... ruffle all my feathers, something to do more with pleasure than anger.

I wanted to trip them both up, big time, and gain some footing again.

This was going to be... shall we say...interesting.


	2. Laughs and Curiosities and Whispers

**Author's Note: I hope those who read it like it as this is new for me and very exciting. Enjoy! Hope I got the emotions right for Sherlock and Tony.**

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The past few days had been a semi-hell for me. I felt like I was walking on a tightrope while trying to hide from a clown and a terribly good, yet annoying, fortune teller. Although I did believe that Sherlock's curiosity concerning Tony had let him stop paying so much attention to me, which I did not mind in the least.

Tonight I was to meet Mary, the fiancee to Dr. Watson, and while I didn't care to dress up in 19th century female wear, I hoped Tony would get into so much trouble he would be cast out of the dinner party, or that I might start to ignore the longing I had for the Tony I knew to somehow emerge from Tony's old womanizing, bothersome persona.

At the "early" hour of 10:00, Lestrade decided to pop in to discuss something with Sherlock while making sure to make small talk with me for ten minutes and then proceeding to be extremely too formal for his own good.

"After you, Miss Grayson," he said to me as we walked into the parlour. However, Sherlock marched through, almost tripping over Lestrade and leaving me to balance him.

"I never realized you had time for awkward attempts of manners. You never seemed to before, Lestrade," Holmes quipped. Lestrade stammered awkwardly as Sherlock proceeded to sit on the sofa and fiddle with his violin, strangely very amused. Watson and Lestrade sat down as well; I continued to stand so I could maintain a good perspective of everyone in the room.

Suddenly, Tony walked in, dying to be the center of attention. "Anything I should know about?" he asked to the crowd, and, noticing that Sherlock had decided to take up the whole of the sofa, decided to brashly move said feet and sit so he had a much better view of me. Watson and I both had to change our laughs into coughs as we observed Sherlock's deeply irked reaction. As long as I was here, I felt I deserved a little bit of fun!

Later, as I took off one of my gloves, I took in the grand surroundings of Watson and Mary's new home. It was magnificent, and I could somehow imagine myself living in a house like this. It was most definitely a change from Tony's high-tech, lots of glass, very modern mansion of sorts. Tony was standing much to close to me for my taste; he had tried to sit next to me in the carriage earlier, but somehow Sherlock had gotten there before him and ruined said opportunity.

Mary was walking us through the house, but I was much too distracted with Tony's soft, almost gentle voice in my ear (I had to focus on that, otherwise I would be distracted by his cocky way of moving, and then that would remind me of all the time I spent with him, and that would lead to dangerous territory). "This is really strange; they're acting so proper when they're really a strange group. Especially that damn... umm... whatshisnameHolmes... He thinks he runs everything. Well, he's in for a good Stark..."

Suddenly, I zoomed in desperately on what Mary was asking me, "..to stay here, and your friend?"

"Oh, there is much to consider," I casually replied, gathering she was asking how long I would be in London, or at the Holmes residence, or something like that.

"How lovely! I do hope we become great friends. John has told me so many wonderful things about you." I tried a sweet smile as we entered the dining room. However, I couldn't help but feel unnerved as we sat down: Tony's smile was merry and cheerful, but his eyes look too crazy and devilish to do anyone any good.


	3. Past and Present Collide Terribly

**Author's Note: Enjoy this new chapter. Please let me know if you like the twists and turns of this or not. Oh, and I just chose a luxury car brand randomly but based on real specs of said luxury car; no product placement intended!**

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There were very few dinners, or even meals with other people, that I could remember being even half as disastrous as the one with myself, Tony, Sherlock, and the unsuspecting and completely baffled Watson and Mary.

With Tony to the right of me and Sherlock right across from me, I felt as if I could have no moment of peace. As we began our meal, Tony pretended to drop his handkerchief and then proceeded to ask, "May I put my head in your lap? It gives me a great view of..." He raised his eyebrows suggestively, but his wish wouldn't be granted because I then moved my legs away so that he would have to rebalance himself. He slowly sat back up and gave me a look of incomprehension as to why I would disapprove.

"This isn't _Hamlet_!" I hissed. "I am in no way Ophelia, and you are definitely not a Hamlet!"

Tony started to express another of his banal thoughts while cunningly moving his foot to play with mine. In that moment, I lost all sense of propriety and gave him a good slap across the back of the head. "Mind your manners!" I hissed once again. For a moment, everything was silent, and then resumed to it's normal sense of decency. I could tell Mary and Watson would be discussing Tony's antics, and mine, later.

"Perhaps he is not said tragic hero, but both he and Hamlet share very surprising self-destructive tendencies," remarked Sherlock after a few minutes. I glared at him with as much as I could muster, but by the time I let off all of my steam we both had small smirks on our faces.

At the moment, Tony was chatting, if you could call it that, about his large luxury car collection and how he had modified them to suit his tastes better. Sherlock was attempting a great deal of politeness by staying only in Mary's and Watson's conversation (which made me feel a mix of desperation for his usual proclivity to interrupt and amusement at his great change in character), though I noticed him glancing at Tony often.

"So with a very un-daunting top speed of 167 miles per hour, and a 4.7L V8 engine, I..." Tony boasted, but was stopped by my sudden need to stop him from talking, as well as clarify something.

"You mean, 'So with a very un-daunting top speed of **177** miles per hour, and a 4.7L V8 engine..."

"I don't think so," he scoffed, his face a mix of petulance, surprise and, perhaps, desire?

"With the Maserati you're talking about, it would seem a bit unkind to not give it some credit as to it's speed, and"

"You sure know a lot about fast cars, don't you? I like that in a woman." His voice got huskier as his mouth moved closer to my ear as if telling a secret. "Whoever taught you sure did you a favor. Let's say we..."

But suddenly, I wasn't at the dining table with Sherlock and a Tony without an atom of humility or an arc reactor in his chest (an added moral compass this Tony most definitely needed). I went back to the memory of when I saw the true Tony I knew for the last time in the Marvel Universe in his ultra-modern Malibu home, the man who had survived the attack in Afghanistan to be "reborn" as Iron Man, as well as a wonderful colleague... and friend.

He had told me earlier that he had something he really wanted to discuss with me, so there I was, ten at night, walking up to him in his garage as he fine tuned a new component to his Mark V Iron Man suit with Jarvis' assistance. I had stopped to look over one of his many hot rods that graced the garage as well: this one was decked out with daring red, orange, and yellow flames. He had taught me so much about how to handle a car, not only how to drive it, but also every detail that the car needed it's owners to understand.

"How are you?" he kindly asked me as I casually moved back over to his worktables. "How's the broken ankle doing?"

"Lots better. It's healed up nicely. For our presentation with SHIELD in a week, you, Hawkeye, and I should..." I trailed off as he gently took his hands in mine.

"This isn't easy to say," he awkwardly started as we sat down. He still had his hands folded in mine; in both that moment and in my memory I could feel the calluses, the scars, and the contours of his hands that made them his.

"After Afghanistan, I had to rethink a lot of my life. And I found there could be a "new" me, someone that I could be proud of. A lot of people, and a lot of things have helped me get to that point." Silence enveloped us.

"One of them was...you. I can't say... no the right word is express... how much you mean to me, how much you've helped and changed me, and I was thinking, that maybe, if you felt the same way, we could try an experiment, well maybe not that word, but an chance that maybe we..."

My phone rang, much too loudly. In fear and desperation of what he might say, I said, "I have to answer this," dropped his hands, and rushed to the other side of the room to take the call. To this day, I really have no idea what Natasha was telling me because I was so nervous; I didn't know what to think. The only consolation was that the phone call would make me seem busy so I could have some excuse to...

Then, the phone call ended, and I concocted a way to get out.

"I have to go." I picked up my purse.

_Lie._

I gave a quick glance over to him to grab some Avengers paperwork. "There's something I have to deal with at the Avengers mansion. I promise we can finish talking tomorrow."

_Lie._

"Maybe we can talk at Stark Industries tomorrow afternoon at the earliest and then have dinner and figure out the presentation to SHIELD." Tony was looking at his hands and was much too quiet; my heart twisted inside of me. "Bye!" I called out and before I knew it I was out the door and moving to my car.

_More lies, then escape._

I could remember myself walking as fast as possible away. I hated running away, but I needed to find a way to understand what was going on. All of a sudden, through neither the experience or memory, I saw Tony back in the garage with his head in his hands, his hopes falling apart.

The next thing I knew, water was cascading down my face and all over my borrowed dress.

"Excuse me, miss!" cried a servant as I zoned in again on where I was, where I had ended up after leaving a broken Tony: 1890 London, in the home of Mary and Watson. I was dripping and quite chilled by the ice water, and everyone was trying to aid me in some way, but all I felt was the numbness or pain of what I had left behind.

"I'm leaving," I murmured and without thinking, walked straight out of their dining room and their house into the street. As I quickened my pace, I found myself running faster and faster, with my thoughts keeping pace.

Instead of running away, I could have said to Tony, "I'm scared. I don't know how much I love you, and I don't know how much you love me. I want to try us being together, too. Do you think the experiment of us together can succeed, can last forever? Will I lose you if we don't?" But I didn't, and I was stuck here with no friends and nowhere to go, no arms to run into.

I couldn't be sure, but as the rivulets of iced water fell down my face, I felt them mix with burning hot tears as well.


	4. Discussions of the Heart

"You will not find a carriage if you continue in this direction." Holmes' voice surprises me.

I don't pause in my escape, but the words cut through me more than the chill of the evening.

"Even if I were to search for one, no one would take me." My voice cracks in the middle and my resolve crumbles. I stop in my tracks and simply listen to the pattering of the final drops of water reluctantly releasing their grip from my hair and dress.

I can tell when he reaches me how close he is to placing a hand on my shoulder, but he decides against it.

When I open my eyes, he is gazing at me with an intensity I cannot understand.

"What poison did he spout in your ear?" His brown eyes search my face, taking in every piece of evidence of my sadness. I didn't expect that line of questioning, but then again, I didn't expect him to take the time to ask me anything about that abominable experience.

"It's not exactly what he said, but..." Tony's face flashes before my eyes, and then I realize where we are. "Can we discuss this fully at Baker's Street? Preferably in front of a fire with the opportunity for me to change out of this sopping outfit?"

Only a slight nod of his head answers my questions, but he kindly takes my arm as we head in search for a carriage.

The night doesn't seem as chilly or as daunting after all.

Settled in the sitting room, I glance around at the violin in the corner, the stacks of books, and finally at the man sitting across from me. He's changed as well. Curling my trousered legs up under me, I consider what to say first.

"Tony didn't say anything particular. It's simply troublesome to be in his company, especially since he only notices my physical attributes."

"Do you not feel worthy of notice?" he blurts out. He's leaning forward in his seat, his hands forming a temple, but strangely his eyes, so close on me this whole evening, have drifted to the fire. If I could imagine that's what he's really seeing in his mind's eye.

"Yes. No. A bit of both. I've never gotten close to a man who first noticed me for that certain characteristic. But with Tony... he reminds me of someone. Someone who I care about deeply and who I hurt deeply. Someone who told me what he felt, and I felt so scared of what I didn't know that I deserted him." I swallow deeply and hang my head. I never expected to tell anyone.

But I chose to share this with Sherlock Holmes, the man most likely to scoff at me or simply not understand.

Patiently, I await his response, or lack of one.

Until he says, "Do you love him?"

"I'll always love him." Our eyes are staring into each other.

Suddenly, something darkens in his eyes even though the room is so well-lit.

"Then you have your answer," he replies and stands up abruptly. "Do not let this man suffer any longer from your absence and loss of your affection. If you need any aid in arranging travel back to America, do not hesitate to ask."

The next thing I know, he's out the door without even bidding me good night.

That was the truthful answer, but it doesn't seem like it wasn't the right one for me or my heart.


	5. Finding The Unknown

**Author's Note: This has gone in a different direction than I had originally intended. I don't know when I'll be able to upload more chapters as school will consume my time, but I'll try. My muse has returned and I don't want it to leave again without me at least attempting to finish and give you all a good story. Thanks go to Lemon Zinger for the feedback and the encouragement. And please let me know your thoughts.**

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"May I inquire as to the wellbeing of Mr. Stark, the man who accompanied you when we last met?" Mary politely asks as I nurse my cup of tea and she sips hers. I try to stop my hands from fidgeting.

It was extremely kind of her to invite me, a welcome distraction from today's events. I'm not sure I deserve it after the dinner fiasco five days ago.

"He has... lost interest in my company, and I have not heard from him since." Though I am quick to add, "But I am sure he is in perfectly good health."

"I see," replies Mary, and she warmly offers me a biscuit which I hesitantly take.

"Thank you for inviting me," I say yet again, and she smiles at me.

"John has spoken a great deal of you. I know what friends can mean when you are so far away from home."

Hopefully her friendship would be less painful, I thought darkly, but she jarred my musings when she interjected, "John has also mentioned how highly and often Sherlock speaks of you."

I bite my tongue in fear of an impolite response, and consider carefully my reply while chewing on my biscuit. "I had no realization Mr. Holmes thinks anything of me at this time."

"Well, for Sherlock to speak of you in that manner must mean something," she said with a look in her eyes that seemed to search for my feelings on the man.

And I knew she didn't simply mean professionally.

My reserve falters and I begin to squeak out, "He..." but I can't continue as a horrible shriek fills the air coming from the kitchen.

Alarmed, I quickly go to the scene only to find Watson there as well, shielding Mary's view of a bloodied body in the alley.

"The man is dead," Watson quickly murmurs to me. Without thinking, I go to examine the body, noting the old bruising at the jaw and temple, the blood pooling underneath his lower abdomen...

In the corner of my eye, I notice movement and turn to see a man of medium build and height racing from the scene.

Watson sees him too, and we jump into action. I'm thankful for my technically unacceptable clothing (a shirt, vest, and a very plain sort of skirt with leggings underneath and sturdy boots) as my stride increases and I gain ground on the unknown suspect.

My feet sound harshly against the cobblestones. I ready myself... until I finally have a chance to grab for the man's sleeve.

And that's when he turns around and pulls a revolver out of his jacket pocket.

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An hour and several an argument later with some dreadfully annoying police officers intent on disbelieving I could disarm any man, nevertheless a criminal, I can sense someone making the crowd part and stiffen my spine for our interaction.

My thoughts refuse to go back to what I saw earlier today. Don't you dare, I admonish myself.

Sherlock watches me for a moment, then turns to glance at the officers.

"At times, I find myself perplexed as to the purpose of the police besides their ability to transport cuffed criminals from one place to another."

My eyes travel to his dark brown ones and wonder for a second at his censure.

"Yet you treat Lestrade as if he is a loyal dog. Dogs have a greater capability than that," I reply, then suck in a breath to halt the pounding of my head.

"You are not injured in any manner?" Sherlock quickly asks, his eyes flitting over my face and I find myself lost in his gaze for a moment before I assure that is not the case.

"I simply wondered, regarding the revolver the suspect procured, the manner in which he brazenly waved it around, and the means with which you had to incapacitate him..."

"Thank goodness no one was injured. Especially Watson," I cut in, something clenching in my stomach at the supposition I didn't handle the situation properly. That small shot of pain reminds me of my purpose, and I turn on my heels before realizing something pressing.

"I have a certain case to attend to and I will be gone for some time. Please wish the Doctor and Ms. Morstan farewell for now. Indeed, I must continually beg my leave of her company before my visits are over... In any case, leave them no room for concern. Lie if you must. When you set your mind to it, you perform quite exceptionally." The words rush out as I stare at his worn boots. I have no idea when I'm to see Watson or Mary again. Or Sherlock, a voice in the back of my mind whispers. I push it away before I can consider the meaning.

"Will you be returning to America?" he casually enquires. His head turns downward and I wonder what is so fascinating with the grimy ground.

"No. Not that far." I turn on my heels just as he calls out "Adieu for now, madam."

I pause for a second, swallow deeply, blink several times, and whisper "Goodbye, Sherlock" before continuing my path away from him, a dangerous path I wonder if I dare to tread.

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As I lay awake late into the night on the train and sleep eludes me, I find myself instead drifting to the past, of a place far away and starkly different from the life I lead now.

A smile finally begins to tug at the corner of my mouth as I remember a day of good memories. The Avengers had just finished a particularly dangerous but successful mission, and it had ended with an unexpected, silly argument between Clint Barton and Peter Parker. In an attempt to show his prowess, Peter shot one of Clint's trick arrows and almost took out Nick Fury's other eye.

Still laughing and acting out the reactions of our peers, we had collapsed on his sofa and ended up falling dead asleep within minutes.

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of footsteps and blearily realized that I was half-slouched on the left side of the sofa with Tony's head in my lap and my hand over his arc reactor. Too weary to do anything about it, I closed my eyes again and decided to ignore anyone who was going to come between me and more rest.

But for some reason, I grudgingly peeked again at the pausing of the clicking footfalls so near to the sofa. And there was Pepper, executive assistant to Tony and very good friend to him as well. Not that he could ever admit that.

She couldn't see me. My eyes, however, were fixed on her face as she took in the scene, the closeness of it all, the ease of it. For a moment, I saw a shadow crossing over her bright eyes. Then, the shadow was never there. She smiled, addressed Jarvis to wake Tony, and he jolted awake and attempted to charm his way out of having to do any work that day.

Now I perfectly understand the shadows that crossed over at that moment.

Today, I had ventured to visit Sherlock at 221B in the hopes that I could explain what I had said that night, slipping through the window by the stairs.

Instead, I was surprised to discover that another visitor with a certain Parisian perfume had Sherlock's hand on her cheek and the other in her hair.

Before long, they shared a lingering kiss that left Irene breathless and with tears in her eyes.

Being extremely careful not to make my presence known (luckily I had much prior experience entering and exiting buildings without even Sherlock ever being aware), I left as if I were chased.

When I could finally no longer smell her perfume or everything that made his rooms smell so characteristically his, I ended up pausing before a storefront and pretending to gaze at their goods. But all I could see was the shadow over my eyes, already too dark for their own good.

That shadow, for Pepper and for myself, holds no jealousy, as the emotion is too muddied to be that green or that angry. Instead, it holds the weight of the situation: you were not the other element that gave the moment its spark, its richness.

For some strange reason, it had never occurred before that you could not be.

Or the fact that you never would be.


End file.
